


i can take bullets to the heart

by foxgloved



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Falling In Love, First Love, Gang Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxgloved/pseuds/foxgloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Eretria hates being a barista.</i>
</p><p>(or: the coffee shop au that isn't, in the end, a coffee shop au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can take bullets to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> read end notes for warnings!!!!!!! (spoilers for the fic, in case u wanna read it first)
> 
> literally this wasnt supposed to go over 2k and i wrote??? a fuckign outline can you believe this shit. anyways cephelo is a douche and there are a few parts i laughed at while writing but also parts i cried at while writing. yell at me maybe. also there are plot holes in this & im aware but if you have any questions about what happens near the end feel free to hmu on tumblr. i also just briefly ran this through spellcheck to make sure there werent any glaring spelling errors but if ive screwed up w anything else lmk ok
> 
> title is from 'scream my name' by tove lo which is also SUCH AN ERETRIA SONG AM I WRONG.....

Eretria hates being a barista.

“Oh, but Eretria!” you might say, at this very unsurprising revelation. (If it could be called that; for Christ's sake, everyone knows how much she hates her job.) “Then why did you become one?”

Eretria has debts to pay off. Growing up on the street with a jerkass foster sometimes-dad never works out well. She should've seen a long time ago what an asshole he was, but apparently it took an almost-“arranged marriage” (bah, she knows what that means) to see through his opaque facade. And so now here she is, mixing up coffee for college students that shouldn't be allowed to legally drink that much in one sitting for a living. What a life she's having.

To add to this, the coffee shop-- Shannara, a name Eretria has never asked the owner, Allanon, about and never will because she's terrified of the answer-- is on some seedy street corner. (There's an attempted robbery at least once a week, and Eretria has never been gladder of her habit of carrying a knife everywhere she goes.) So it's always an adventure when some preppy kid walks in, like the pale girl walking in right now and looking utterly lost.

Eretria perks up at the sight. It's noon, meaning there's almost no one in, and the girl's dress shines as she steps up to the counter, walking like she's afraid she might dirty herself. Eretria wonders how much that dress cost-- and that's not even adding in the bracelets and necklace, damn.

“Um,” says the girl. She glances to the menu with fearful dark eyes, smoothing back a lock of hair. “Can I have coffee, or something?”

She looks like she's just realized that this isn't Starbucks and she can't order a pumpkin spice latte. Eretria says, “Sure. Name?” (She isn't going to use the girl's real name on the cup. It isn't Starbucks, and Allanon would kill her if he knew, but whatever, if she's making money off this she'll do whatever she wants with the cups.)

“Amberle.”

What a name.

Then again, _Eretria_.

“Coming right up,” says Eretria. She dumps maybe more sugar than she needs to into the coffee as she mixes it together, but figures the girl-- Amberle-- could use it with how she's fidgeting. She scribbles _Princess_ on the cup, complete with a half-assed crown instead of a dot over the _I_.

Amberle wrinkles her nose when Eretria passes it over. “My name is--”

“No, I heard you, _princess_.” Eretria shoves her hand against her cheek, making a mental note to down some of the Aspirin she knows is stashed in her purse. (“Purse” meaning some satchel she pulled out of the trash. Hey, it's better than nothing.) “You just seem like a princess to me. How much did that dress cost you?”

Amberle huffs. She sparkles when she moves, casting a glow around the entire coffee shop, and takes a sip of her coffee, holding eye contact with Eretria the entire time-- ooh, _rebellious_ \-- before she heads out. Eretria is still blinking away the gleam of those dark sequins by the time she gets off her shift.

  
  


*

  
  


Eretria half-expects Amberle to never come back to Shannara again, that her first visit had been some random occurrence of fate acting in odd ways. (God, she's been listening to Allanon's philosophical drivel way too much.) She lifts her head from the counter-- hey, it's been a slow day and sometimes she's just got to beat her head repeatedly into some sort of wooden surface-- a week later after the bell rings and sees, gasp shock, Amberle. Her clothes are more casual than the last time she'd come in, a baggy sweater and a skirt that grazes her knees, swaying with every movement, and her hair's scraped back into a neat bun. She's still wearing a necklace, though, one that's even brighter than the previous one and wow are those diamonds?

“Hey, princess,” Eretria says. It's a bit weak, and she straightens up, drumming her nails on the counter before her. Amberle's eyes catch on her tattoo. (Oh.)

“It's Amberle,” she corrects, absent, and steps closer. Her gaze darts up to Eretria's, almost like she's ashamed about checking her out a little, and _ah_ , Eretria thinks. “What you made me the other day was really good, so. Could I have another one?”

Eretria thinks of the five dollars she'd gotten last time. “Absolutely,” she says, before she can think better of it, nodding so hard it hurts her neck. “Yes.” Maybe it's pathetic she's practically on hands and knees for a little extra cash, but a girl's gotta eat.

Amberle nods back at her, and hangs back, toying with the already frayed edge of her sweater, adjusting it along the line of her hips. Eretria's not sure it's sound business practice to mix coffee together hard enough to knock a few little drops out of the rim, but she'd been hired less for her skills at making coffee and more for Allanon feeling bad for her. (That's the story of the only other employee, Wil, too. She's not sure if they're the only strays Allanon has picked up and doesn't want to ask.)

Either way, she's pressing the cup-- labeled with _Princess_ , yet again-- into Amberle's hands, and taking the ten dollar bill she gets passed in return like-- okay, Eretria might be desperate but she's not thinking of rom-com cliche comparisons right now. No. No way. She has never, in all of her eighteen years, used cliches in her own head and she isn't about to start now.

“Thank you,” says Amberle, with a cautious smile.

“Thank _you_ ,” murmurs Eretria, clinging to the money and resisting the urge to draw it up to her nose and sniff. Some of Amberle's fragrant perfume is wafting towards her, maybe it smells like-- no. No, no, no.

Instead of sniffing the money, she drops it as soon as Amberle's back is turned. Oh, dear god.

  
  


*

  
  


“What the fuck, Allanon!”

As far as Eretria can figure out, Allanon is a practicing witch of some sort, and once a month he draws a ritualistic circle on the floor of the coffee shop. This appears to be that time of the month. Wil, behind the counter, shrugs at her, strawlike hair limp and dry around his pointed face. (He's cute, Eretria will admit if there is a gun pressed to her head, but mostly he just looks like he hasn't showered in months. She's one to talk about this, of course.)

“He was already doing that when I got here,” he says. Eretria tip-toes around the edge of the circle, which is looking a bit like a pentagram. She's never paid close attention to Allanon's magic or whatever before. “He won't say anything to me, and there have been like ten customers in today.”

“Busy day, then,” Eretria says. She shoots a dubious look to the clock-- eleven-thirty; Wil snorts and keeps staring at Allanon, who has begin muttering something under his breath. Eretria wonders if he ever goes _home_ and does this. She's seen a cot in the Staff Only room, which is tiny, so she doubts that. “What did you do, advise the unlucky bastards to step around him?”

“Yeah.” Wil shrugs again, kicks his feet up onto the counter.

Eretria would tell him to put his feet down, but she does the same thing, so that would make her a hypocrite. (She's already aware of this fact and just too tired to make a nasty comment about it.)

Guess who comes in within five minutes?

Fucking _Amberle_.

She shoots a look to Allanon, opens her mouth, and seems to get that asking would be worse than not asking. Wil is giving Eretria, stiff in place hovering above him, a flat look. She avoids his gaze, and instead shoves him aside to pluck at her nails like she's not waiting for whatever Amberle is going to say. (She already knows what she's going to say, for Christ's sake, but whatever.)

Eretria glances up just as Amberle approaches. “Let me guess, princess,” she says, going for tired and bored and not at all interested, “coffee?”

Amberle responds with a short nod, twiddling her thumbs. Her eyes remain disappointingly high, but it's like she's forcing herself to look Eretria right in the eyes, her cheeks redder than the last times she'd come in. Wil's gaze has drifted from Eretria up to her, and he's giving her that smile (that he'd attempted to give Eretria on that blind date they'd met on that they don't talk about). Eretria might pour an extra pack of sugar into the coffee, and she might glare at it like it's the thing offending her. _Might_.

Amberle takes the cup, and her eyes sparkle in a way that _should not_ be endearing. Wil's smile drops off his face, glancing between Amberle and Eretria. Amberle stays for longer than usual this time. Eretria refuses to read into it.

“Oh my god,” he whispers as soon as Amberle is gone. _“Oh my god.”_

“ _What,”_ says Eretria. It's a low hiss, a snap under her breath, and she feels her face heat. (It's not like Wil doesn't know she's bi-- she'd spent more time talking to the waitress on that blind date they don't talk about than him. And also she has a bracelet with the flag colors that she tries to wear often.) “It's not anything. Stop looking at me like that. Oh look a customer,” she adds, practically throwing herself across the counter as another dude steps in.

Wil is still staring at her when she leaves at the end of her shift.

“Stop,” she snaps.

He holds his hands up, but there's a certain glint to his eyes, and he blows the wrapper of a straw in her direction. When she decides to peel it off her bag on the walk home, there's _GIVE HER YOUR NUMBER_ written on it in crooked blue pen, ink staining Eretria's fingertips as she pulls her hand away.

At least no one's around to see her throwing the wrapper into a nearby bush, or to hear the string of curses she lets go.

  
  


*

  
  


It's been three months since Amberle started coming in to Shannara, and Eretria is upset at her lack of initiative. She's chosen to ignore Wil's nagging advice up until this point, but apparently when she's desperate she's _really fucking desperate_.

So when Amberle comes in, maybe she goes all out with some new organic blend Allanon had bought the week before. (Thank whatever god there is Wil only works on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.) Maybe she uses one of the nice mugs that Allanon sells for like fifty bucks apiece. (Thank, again, whatever god is out there that Allanon is building a shrine of some sort in the back room.)

And maybe she's started bringing a pen into work for the sole purpose of writing her number on the thing. _God_.

Amberle's looking at her a little oddly by the time she's done mixing in about five packets of sugar-- okay, maybe it's two small ones but she's shaking a little-- and slamming the mug down on the table. _Ow_ , she thinks and bites down hard on her lip to avoid from showing it and shoving her hand in her pocket to keep from sucking on her reddening fingers.

“Thank you,” says Amberle, as always, and she doesn't blink at the winding trail of numbers. Wait, no, she just isn't looking at that side yet.

“No problem, princess,” says Eretria. As always. She lifts her hand in a half-wave as Amberle heads out, sipping from the mug with an... interesting look on her face. It's-- intrigued, maybe, but also a bit confused or disgusted. Eretria isn't sure.

(She also isn't sure she _wants_ to know.)

  
  


*

  
  


_Is this Eretria?_

Eretria almost types _How do you know my name_ before she remembers: it's stitched on her Shannara jacket. The jacket that she's still wearing, actually, even in her tiny, rat-infested apartment. (It smells nice-- like coffee beans and the mix of perfume from customers who lean a little close. Customers = Amberle, and it's not that Eretria _minds_.)

Instead, she types: _yes_.

_Oh_ , comes the response. _It's... Amberle, from Shannara_.

Eretria glances to the ceiling. _No duh_ , she thinks-- she's not one to give out her number and the only other person she has in her phone is Allanon-- but doesn't type that back. She saves Amberle's number under _Princess_ , just because she can and if she ever lets her see her phone she knows it'll make her blush prettily like she does around Eretria most of the time.

_hey princess_ , she types back. (She's uncaring of grammar or spelling-- when you grow up on the street as part of a gang, you don't quite get first-class education. You're lucky if you get to go to school at all, when you're a Rover. Eretria, in this case, was one of the unlucky ones.)

There's a pause, and then: _Hi_. Just that.

(Amberle really isn't sure what to do in this situation, is she?)

_want to go somewhere?_ Eretria sends. _not tonight obv_ , she adds. _like in a week a few days or idk_. She's usually more eloquent about this kind of thing.

_Sure. Where were you thinking?_

_movie or dinner_ _or lunch_ _or_ _smth_ , Eretria suggests.

_Lunch on Sunday? I'm free then :)_.

Eretria doesn't know if she can handle the emoticon. And also Amberle's damn perfect punctuation, but she hasn't pointed out Eretria's lack of it yet. She scrubs her hands over her face, looks to whatever is oozing out of her ceiling, and offers, _yea thats fine_.

This is going to kill her, she's sure.

  
  


*

  
  


“I thought you didn't like me,” gushes Amberle over lunch. “I mean-- you kept glaring at me so I didn't know you wanted to be... friends?” She sounds clumsy over the word, stuttering a bit and chewing on-- salad. She'd ordered salad, but Eretria's a little stuck on _friends_.

“Right,” she says, trying to keep her eye from twitching. (She doesn't know if she's failing at that or not. _Holy shit_.) “Yeah.”

And then, they're _friends_ and it's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to Eretria.

  
  


*

  
  


Eretria doesn't do parties. Yet here she is, because Amberle is rich, as she expected, and has a party boy uncle who throws a party weekly and asked her to come this time, and so Amberle asked Eretria for “assistance”. She hovers, awkward, close to the wall, waiting for Amberle to finish socializing with a senator or someone else important, clutching a fruity drink like it's a lifeline.

“Sorry,” whispers Amberle, breaking off from the group she's talking to. “Uncle Ander likes feeling important, so he invites everyone he hasn't made himself a powerful enemy in to these things.”

She glows, beautiful, against the dull surroundings, backless dress sweeping her ankles and far too formal for something like this. (Eretria, on the other hand, wears a leather jacket she hasn't washed in several months and ripped jeans. No one said she was a fashion icon. Though everyone does keep giving her nasty looks, so she feels like she's accomplished something.)

“It's fine,” Eretria lies. Her knuckles are blanched where she's pinching in the sides of the cup, paper dry beneath her fingertips. Amberle gives a glance to her hands, cheeks flushing, and then looks back up. “I'm having a great time being glared at-- no, really, it feels great to be looked at weird by these asshole old straight white guys.”

Amberle laughs, strangled and weak, but goes slack and paler than usual in a blink, hand jumping to Eretria's shoulder. “Oh my god. Pretend to be talking to me.”

“I am talking to you,” Eretria points out, arching an eyebrow.

“About something-- deep, I don't know.” Amberle peers over her shoulder, swearing under her breath and skirting to Eretria's side. “Too late, he's coming over here. Oh my god, oh my god, _oh my god_ \--”

“Calm down,” says Eretria, calm, looking to the guy Amberle's practically hiding behind her to avoid. He's tall and good-looking, but has an off air to him, something important in the set of his shoulders and the cutting edges of his cheekbones, the gobs of gel in his dark hair. “Who is he?”

“His name's Lorin,” Amberle tells her. Eretria hides a snort in a swig of her drink. “My grandfather, who's a bastard that spends hours talking about _tradition_ and the _old days_ , wants to arrange a marriage with him or something. I-- he used to be a friend of mine, and we dated for a second, but now he won't stop hitting on me even when I make it clear that I'm not into him anymore.” She shudders, mouth twisting. “Oh, god, he's coming closer.”

Yes, he is, though he seems to have missed their conversation about him. He smiles, civil, at Amberle, dark eyes dancing-- he's dressed in a tidy suit, free hand tucked at his side. “Hello, Amberle,” he says, cool and languid. Amberle gives him a smile that looks more like a grimace. “It's been a while.”

“Yes, it has,” says Amberle. She clearly doesn't know how to fake a smile and pull it off, because she's cringing and mouthing _HELP ME_ at Eretria. (Lorin somehow misses this, even with how intently he's looking at Amberle. Amazing.)

“You've only gotten prettier,” says Lorin. He drops to his knees, and he's wearing pale gloves that stretch all the way to the creases of his sharp elbows. Eretria raises an eyebrow as he winds his thin fingers around Amberle's wrist, drawing her hand closer to press a kiss into her knuckles. “You really are gorgeous, my Amberle.”

Amberle laughs, reedy and false. “That's very kind of you,” she says, fumbling, and her eyes flash in Eretria's direction.

Eretria gets the hint-- or at least, she thinks she does, twining her arm around Amberle's waist and tugging her into her. Lorin stumbles to his feet, as Eretria fake-glares in his direction, grinds out, “Hey, you flirting with my girlfriend?”

Lorin opens and shuts his mouth, looking like a fish out of water. Eretria, if she weren't herself, would feel bad at swallowing laughter at his expression, but since she _is_ herself, she takes a perhaps too big sip of her drink. She holds eye contact, the way Cephelo had taught her-- who'd've thought his advice would come in handy at a time like this-- until he breaks away, blinking hard.

“Oh, I didn't know--”

Amberle looks like a deer in headlights, but she offers a smile that looks more real than the ones previous, patting Eretria's hand. “Now you do,” she says, calmer than before, too, and Eretria squeezes her side.

“Well,” Lorin says, fidgeting with his tie. He busies himself with looking at anywhere else in the room, gulping when he brings his gaze back to them and hastily glancing elsewhere like the sight of them hurts his eyes. Eretria tries not to laugh, and when she looks at Amberle, it appears that's the reason her lips are folded together. “I guess that's why you've never been very receptive to my-- um.” He falters, seeming to see that continuing with what he's saying isn't a good idea. “I'll see you around, Amberle!”

And then he's gone, another dark blur in the crowd. Amberle gives a sigh of relief, peeling away from Eretria's side, Eretria's hand falling back to her own hip. She tries not to be too disappointed at this, curling her fingers into her pocket.

“Thank you,” Amberle whispers.

“Anytime, princess.”

  
  


*

  
  


Eretria is a patient person, sure. (That statement is a lie, but she's already lying to herself, why not add one more to the pile.) But she's growing so damn impatient with Amberle, with dancing around each other-- with being _friends_. They've known each other since September, and now here Eretria is, in the middle of February, having to spend Valentine's Day alone because Amberle is too lost inside her own internal conflict to admit that she has feelings for her. Eretria doesn't have feelings-- that's a lie she's told herself over and over.

She doesn't even believe herself when she thinks it, and so she picks herself off the cramped living room of her apartment and finds herself breezing to Amberle's place. The doorbell trills when she slams the flat of her hand into it, leather sleeves hissing around her scrawny wrists, and Eretria hovers there a moment longer. Amberle comes to the door with her hair combed back, looking like she's just gotten up (it's ten, so she might as well have), in a baggy T-shirt and shorts.

Eretria doesn't look her in the eyes, shoving past her into the broad main room, glancing around at all the little shiny knick-knacks lining the walls. She hears the creak of the door closing behind her, and Amberle's footsteps, edging closer, but doesn't process them, lost in the haze of her own foot tapping on the ground and irritation buzzing around her mind.

“Eretria?” Amberle asks, and it's cautious, a careful murmur like she's afraid she'll upset Eretria further. A little late for that. “Are you okay?”

Eretria's breath rattles when she exhales again, dragging her fingers through her hair and wondering _why the hell she feels like this_. Amberle-- she was just supposed to be another girl, just another casual relationship, because Eretria couldn't deal with anything serious-- but then she'd gone and been a friend and not a _girl_ friend or a fling and-- Eretria doesn't know how to have friends--

What comes out when she speaks is, “No.” Amberle flinches at the harsh tone of Eretria's voice, and maybe it came out a little too rough. Eretria shakes her head, shakes those thoughts away, and snaps, “I-- you told me you didn't know I wanted to be 'friends' with you. I've never had a real friend, and I don't-- I didn't want a friend, I wasn't looking for a friend when I first saw you. And I knew you liked me, too, like that and-- Amberle”-- she thinks this is the first time she's actually called her by her name-- “what are we doing here? Because I don't want to be just friends. And I don't know if you're closeted even to yourself or--” Her voice is _breaking_ and Eretria's fingers are _shaking_ and she doesn't know what the hell to _do_.

_Feelings make you weak_ , Cephelo had said and _why_ can't Eretria get his voice out of her head--

“If you just want to be friends with me,” she manages, “I don't-- I don't think I can do that. Not after-- all this, and--” She swallows, around the rising lump in her throat, around the swell of feelings somewhere in her chest; Amberle is staring at her, frozen in place, eyes large and horrified. “Shit. I have to go.”

Eretria blinks away tears-- for the first time in _years_ \-- as she leaves, bitter air digging into her skin, aware that Amberle isn't saying anything, she isn't calling after her, and--

She collapses a bit down the street, sliding down the wall and burying her face in her hands and _screaming_. She hasn't cried since she was a kid-- about five, she thinks, hiding her face so Cephelo wouldn't see-- but he did, of course he did, and he'd hoisted her up on his lap and told her never to do “that shit” again. His “or else” warnings were always implicit rather than stated, and she wonders why she's thinking about this _now_ \--

She doesn't know how long it is before she's able to pull herself off the ground. Minutes or hours, who knows.

She finds herself retracing her steps back to Amberle's-- to apologize, to-- she doesn't even know. Eretria gets no answer after she knocks and rings the doorbell, and the door is unlocked-- she pushes in, and her lips form in a silent scream.

Instead of Amberle standing there still, there's a letter, scribbles of black and red, the color of blood, underneath it all. Eretria has to squint to make out the words when she plucks the letter off the ground-- she already knows what it'll say:

_Hey, sweetheart. Glad to see you've been making friends! :)_

_See, the thing is, when you left, I lost someone valuable. Come back to me, Eretria, or you'll regret it. The girl dies if you're not there by tonight._

_\- Cephelo_

  
  


*

  
  


Eretria knows not to trust Cephelo. He's a Rover, a liar, a thief-- but once, she had been his most faithful companion, his pet project. The baby he'd swept from the porch of some horrible people, who would one day be terrible parents to her-- the baby he'd raised as his own, the baby he'd treated as his daughter. He'd taught her how to shoot a gun when she was six, how to slit someone's throat when she was four.

He'd taught her that feelings never worked out very well.

(He'd been right. No matter what you said about Cephelo, you had to admit he was always _right_ when he told the truth.)

And yet here she is, in an abandoned alleyway, in broad daylight. She doesn't trust Cephelo, but she also knows that he _will_ kill Amberle without even thinking twice. And Eretria-- she can't let that happen.

She loves Amberle.

(Loves. Love. She _loves_ Amberle. She plays that over and over again in her own head as she's waiting. Thinking. She's _in love with_ Amberle.

Well, that's new.)

Cephelo shows up. (He always shows up.) He tugs Amberle along with him, and shadows move around them-- he's acting like he came alone, like he trusts Eretria. Years ago, Eretria would've believed that-- that there isn't anyone else here, none of the other Rovers have come to make sure she upholds her end of the bargain. Then again, years ago she wouldn't be in this position.

There's a knife in her boot, close enough that she can grab it if push comes to shove. She scans the situation-- five Rovers on either side of them, and they're stronger Rovers, too. Cephelo has a knife pressed to Amberle's throat, combing her blood-streaked hair back, and Amberle is looking wide-eyed at Eretria.

Eretria takes a breath. “You wanted to see me?” she asks, keeping her voice steady by some miracle. It's taking so much damn effort not to just run forwards and take Amberle, but that'd be foolish and reckless and end in them both laying with a bullet through their brains.

Cephelo's grin grows, as sharp as the knife pressed to Amberle's throat. “Hey, sweetie,” he croons. Amberle's eyes go even wider, and Eretria forces herself to look away from her, to hold Cephelo's gaze. “It's nice to see you again.”

“It's _not_ nice to see you,” Eretria grits out. “What do you want?”

“Oh, you _know_ what I want.” Cephelo's smile falters, for once, features sharpening, growing hard, and Eretria thinks of him threatening to sell her off in low tones-- him pressing a knife to her throat like he is to Amberle, now. She thinks of all the shit she'd put up with over the years and when she'd finally kicked back. “Come back to me. Be that damn good Rover again. You're my daughter-- you owe me for everything I've ever done.”

Eretria is pushing the line already, and she knows if she pushes herself over Cephelo will slit Amberle's neck without so much as blinking. She sinks back, lets herself fall. _I don't owe you anything_. The unspoken words burn her throat, scalding and hot as Allanon's “special blends”, and Eretria braces herself. “What do I get in return?” she asks, over the rush of blood in her ears, and dusts her sides off like her hands aren't shaking.

A bead of red starts to show on Amberle's neck, the slightest quiver in Cephelo's palm. He's getting impatient-- that, at the least, was a trait Eretria had inherited from him. “The girl's life. You care for her, don't you?” He must get his answer from the searching gaze he drags over Eretria's face, his lips quirking. “Oh, that isn't good. But if you come back and pretend like none of this ever happened, she can live.”

Eretria shuts her eyes.

She's already made her decision.

“I accept.”

Cephelo beams, and Amberle gasps as he lets her go, clutching at her throat. There are red lines winding around her neck, marking her pale skin, leaving scrapes and bruises where Cephelo's knife and fingertips had pressed. Eretria drinks in the sight of her, memorizes the vision of her standing there with messy hair, blood staining her skin. She knows it's the last time she'll see her-- and she revels in it when Amberle takes a ragged step towards her, shaking as she tumbles into Eretria's outstretched grasp.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, into Eretria's shoulder. Eretria squeezes her back, breathing in the scent of oil in her locks and her skin, pressing a kiss into her hair. She loves her, she loves her, she _loves_ her--

She doesn't say this, and waits for one of the watching Rovers to pull Amberle away. Cephelo's eyes glint with cruelty over Amberle's head, his head tilting upwards.

Eretria's decision, though, isn't as simple as those two words. She waits.

Some of the shadows slink away, and--

Eretria lets go of Amberle, tucks her beneath her and presses her hand to her lips when she gets a surprised gasp in response. Amberle ducks back and Eretria kneels and when she pulls the knife out it scrapes along her leg and the cut it's sure to leave gives her an adrenaline rush, just enough to see the shock on Cephelo's face--

She makes her way through the Rovers, and she's never felt more on top of the world, mowing down and knocking them down--

Until she stands in front of Cephelo, some of the Rovers stirring and stilling behind her. “You should know never to trust a Rover,” Eretria hisses. She doesn't think it'll be this easy, and she turns, halfway, to see dark shapes looming out from behind Amberle.

That is her mistake, and she doesn't expect the shift behind her, but she hears it and moves and a sharp edge grazes her side--

And Amberle is yelling for her and pain is darting through her, Cephelo's glinting eyes flashing beneath her eyelids, vision swimming--

“You're going to be okay,” someone whispers above her and flashing strobes dance around the alleyway, hands hoisting her up and faces circle above her, and--

Eretria squeezes her eyes shut again.

  
  


*

  
  


Her first thought is, _well, fuck_.

(Well. That's her third thought, after _Amberle_ and _this really fucking hurts_ but the first one is just plain embarrassing and the second is obvious. Of course a stab wound is going to hurt, no matter how mild it had been against her side. Christ, she should know this-- she shouldn't have been felled by getting _grazed_ in the side but, hey, she hadn't gotten stabbed in... a while. How had she never realized how terrible of a father Cephelo was before?)

The first thing Eretria sees, on the other hand, is Amberle. Her head is tilted to one side where she sits beside Eretria's bed, and she seems to be asleep; she straightens up after a few minutes of Eretria staring, and goes pink at seeing Eretria awake. “Morning,” she says, fidgeting with her hands. There's still dried blood in a thin line across her throat, and she swallows, ducking her head. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Eretria croaks. She looks Amberle over, and then adds, “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, princess,” and gets a darker flush in response.

There's silence for a few more minutes-- Eretria's not sure she could fall asleep again if she tried, mostly because of the stinging pain in her lower abdomen. (Though she's actually had cramps worse than being stabbed, and that should say a lot, shouldn't it.) She can feel a bandage starting to peel off her skin, but can't move to toy with the fraying edge of it.

“We should probably talk about that thing, shouldn't we?” she asks, after the quiet, because it's killing her to not talk about it. “If you don't love me, just get it over with and leave the side of my sickbed.” Eretria gives a mock cough, and Amberle laughs, but it's fake and small. “Because-- I love you, princess, and I've never really loved anyone before. So let me down easy, maybe?”

“I love you, too.” It's quiet, a broken admittance, and Eretria lifts her head with only mild difficulty. “I didn't want to admit that I was-- in love with a girl, or that I even had feelings for one.” Amberle's eyes flash, and she is beautiful even tired and weak sitting at Eretria's bedside. “I'm sorry for not saying anything back then, but I _couldn't_.”

“I know what you mean.” Eretria squeezes her eyes shut. “So... want to go on an actual real date as soon as I'm up and walking?”

Amberle laughs, more genuine now. “Yeah, sure.

  
  


*

  
  


(And maybe they do, and maybe they do this for two or three weeks before Amberle sees Eretria's apartment and decides, “You're moving in with me.” And maybe Eretria says yes and finds herself packing up all she has-- which isn't much-- and dumping it at Amberle's place, and maybe they'll live there for years in the future.

And maybe Wil throws confetti at them the first time he sees them holding hands and Eretria yells at him, to which he points out that it's technically his doing. And maybe Allanon, with his magic or whatever, gives them his blessing and Amberle isn't sure how to interact with him when he isn't concentrated on drawing a circle in the middle of the floor and she has to step around him.

And maybe--

For once, Eretria is happy.

Just maybe, though.)

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** major character injury (not death), violence, brief references to rape/abuse, implied past internalized biphobia, blood, knives/weapons. im not sure if theres anything else maybe but im tired rn
> 
> [feel free to yell at me @ tumblr](http://npdsolo.tumblr.com)


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